


Sentimental Soldier

by leurauxe



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Crossdressing, Iwaizumi is a freelancer agent who fights with a baseball bat, M/M, Spy AU!, Undercover Missions, and Oikawa is flirty as ever, very very VERY minor mention of violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-15
Updated: 2017-04-15
Packaged: 2018-10-19 03:35:26
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,439
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10631319
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/leurauxe/pseuds/leurauxe
Summary: Iwaizumi has encountered all sorts of people in his profession. But no one quite like this.The story of a dangerous first encounter between an assassin and hitman.gift for tammy (dahliadenoire on tumblr) for the 2017 iwaoi gift exchange!





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [oseltamivir_phosphate](https://archiveofourown.org/users/oseltamivir_phosphate/gifts).



> As mentioned in the summary, this is a gift for [dahliadenoire](http://dahliadenoire.tumblr.com/) for an iwaoi event!
> 
> This work has references to her [artwork](http://dahliadenoire.tumblr.com/post/158741885688/) because it's gorgeous and badass as heck  
> Tammy is also an incredible writer too!! and has written a [piece](http://archiveofourown.org/works/10575888/) for the art so please check that out too!!

_A man of many faces._

That’s what they referred to him as.

He preferred the term ‘freelancer’. He’d worked in all facets of the business because he was skilled and not many people were willing to do what he did. Whether the job was big or small, it didn’t matter. He’d learned to accept whatever came his way, no longer sensitised by the world.

Some jobs were just plain ugly and violent. But those were the ones which paid well and that was more than enough of an incentive for him. Afterall, blood money was as good as any.

 

 

_Vladivostok, Russia_

Three hundred miles from the east, in the secluded town of Vladivostok, a lonesome man stood waiting on the open roads of a cliff side. He wore a pair of cheap sunglasses, simple black T-shirt with a pair of weathered denim pants. From any bystander’s perspective, he appeared to be a tourist, entranced by the cliff view which spanned out to the wide ocean and harbour entrance. He was not.

Iwaizumi gaze was fixated on the door of the private estate, secluded from the public.  
In his hand he carried a baseball bat which swung loosely back and forth. It was old and battered now, chipped lightly on the cap from excessive use. He could’ve replace it already, but it was a beloved piece which had accompanied him through many jobs. He cradled it behind his neck and hung on to the two ends, like he was carrying a yoke.

Iwaizumi looked around his surroundings with discretion: no cafés where he could sit in comfort, no parks or squares where he could casually meld in to. Just a desert of inherited residential wealth. The agent shifted lightly. If he stood on the pavement for too long, he’d probably be arrested for loitering.  
He pulled out his mobile and dialled the provided number.

_“Iwaizumi.”_

“Any word on how much longer I need to wait here?”

_“Sorry, but there’s been a change of plan. The fella who was supposed to meet you called out of town suddenly. Some sort of emergency from what I’ve heard. He was vague about it. You know how clients can be, inconclusive.”_

“What am I supposed to do?”

_“I’ve got the security codes for the gate and front door. Your target’s expecting his mistress so don’t worry about being too discreet about the entrance.  There’s also supposed to be a suitcase. He carries it with him almost everywhere. Finish him off and take it with you. And just a quick heads up, I think he’s expecting guests at eleven so make sure you’re well and truly out of the place by ten-thirty.”_

Iwaizumi’s brows etched in disapproval as he checked his watch. “That’s alittle unorthodox.”

_“Don’t complain. If anything, it sounds like it’s going to be an easy one. You’ll be in and out within a second. And you won’t have worry about the mess either.”_

“I suppose.” The agent turned and gazed at the grand stone driveway which led to the three-storey penthouse. “How does someone get so rich?” he asked as he adjusted his bat.

 _“It’s all family money,”_ the other replied. _“The guy inherited a major oil industry before he sold it off.”_

“I heard he gave a lot of his funding to charity and foundations.”

_“That’s the story.”_

“You don’t believe it?”

They gave a non-committed grunt. _“If he’s such a great guy you wouldn’t be there, now would you?”_

Iwaizumi’s lip quipped up at the comment. “Case and point.”

_“Let me give you the security codes. Do you have a pen and paper by any chance? They’re rather long.”_

“Just tell me the numbers. I’ll remember.”

“ _Ah, of course.”_ The other gave a snort. _“You and your little parlor tricks.”_

He rattled off two series of numbers, each eight digits and severed the connections.  
Iwaizumi lifted the receiver of the security phone and punched in the numbers. A buzzer sounded and he turned to latch and stepped in. At the front entrance of the house he repeated the routine and a moment later he was standing in the darkened front hall, groping for a light switch.

As promised, the house was very much empty. He eyed around the entrance as he walked. _Tidy,_ he noted. He’d also heard rumours of his target being a bit of a germaphobe.

At the foot of the grand staircase was a carved antique table. There was an envelope which lay on top, addressed ‘Cleaner’ _._ _Precise careful handwriting, unsigned._ Iwaizumi picked it up and lifted it to his nose. _No scent._ He sliced it open with his forefinger. There was an impressive wad of cash neatly tucked inside.

Iwaizumi folded the envelope, slipped it in to his pocket and continued venturing the house. Once satisfied with the first floor, he proceeded up the stairs, stepping ever so gently as not to make any noise. He had made his way down the main corridor when he paused mid-step. The agent cocked his head to the side and listened.

There was a sound, faint but still audible. It was coming from the end of the hallway.

Iwaizumi tightened his grip on his bat in stirring anticipation and he followed the source.

The sound grew surer, leading to the furthest room to his right. The doors were left ajar and he silently slipped in. It was dark, no lights burning, heavy curtains tightly drawn. Despite the gloom, he had the sensation of lush antique grandness. A vintage red-oak record player sat beside the unlit fireplace, playing a soft tune; song of choice a classical piano piece.

_Chopin. Nocturne in E-flat major. Op. 9, No. 2._

He watched the needle rolled over the groove of the disk.

Iwaizumi took a step forward, then paused. Beneath his feet the carpet was damp. The air tasted of salt and rust. It struck a familiarity. He reached down, touched his fingers to the carpet, and brought it to his face.

He was standing in blood.

The oriental carpet was faded and old, like the dead man sprawled in the middle of it. He lay face-down, body bizarrely contorted. He wore a double-vented blue blazer and a grey trousers. The trousers had ridden up along his lower leg, revealing skin shockingly white, like exposed bone.

Iwaizumi squatted on his haunches with the casualness of someone who was at ease around the dead. The corpse had been a man of small stature, reaching probably just his shoulders. He lay in profile the left side of his face exposed. It appeared the man had been shot once through the left eye. Iwaizumi tilted his head for a closer examine. Judging from the exit wound, the weapon had to be a rather large-caliber handgun. He suspected the man had been dead for a few hours.

Guess his client wasn’t the only one who wanted him gone.

Iwaizumi gave a low sigh. As much as he appreciated having half of his work already taken care of for him, this was definitely going to raise complications. He was going to have get out of here as soon as possible.

Iwaizumi stood and stepped over the corpse. He scanned the room, swiftly and meticulously until his eyes landed on a weathered oak study desk pushed against the far left of the room.

_Bingo._

He made a beeline for the desk, opening the drawers and rummaging through. Upon finding nothing, he slid the drawers shut and knelt down. He searched under the desk for some type of release mechanism, running his fingers along the under-surface for possible openings.

“Looking for something?”

He paused and peered over his shoulder to find someone else in the room.

Iwaizumi held no interest in women, though he couldn’t help the single thought which fleeted his mind: _No wonder he cheated on his wife._

She was young, in her middle twenties; pretty face with doeful eyes and crimson lips. Her long black hair was pulled back in an elegant style, leaving a few strands to frame her face.  
She wore a silk oriental robe which draped generously over her shoulders, down to her feet, though the high thigh slit exposed her long bare legs…

But he decided to put that thought aside for the moment. Especially when he had more-immediate concerns to address, like the fact that he was staring straight down the barrel of an automatic pistol.

Iwaizumi blinked owlishly. No one had ever managed to sneak up on him before.

The mistress eyed him up and down, taking in his overly-casual attire. “Who sent you?” she asked with poised coolness.

The agent peered up to meet her eyes, and immediately adopted a confused look. “죄송하지만 이해가 안-”

“Don’t play that card on me,” she interrupted. “I know you understand Japanese. So let us not bother with wasting time.”

Iwaizumi’s expression swept blank and he nodded politely. “I see.”  
He cast a casual sweeping glance around, already scheming a possible escape route. It was very unlikely he was going to be able to outrun a bullet but he could always try.

It was like she’d read his thoughts. There was an audible click as the woman cocked the safety of her gun. “That would be inadvisable.”  
She motioned to a lounge. “Sit there. Hands on your knees or I blast them off. I’m told I have remarkable aim.”

Iwaizumi did as instructed, keeping his movements slow and reassuring. He gently placed his bat beside him on top of a velvet tassel cushion.

The woman’s gaze flickered over at it and she stared like she was noticing it for the first time. “Interesting choice of weapon,” she commented. “I don’t suppose you ever considered upgrading?”

The number of times he’d heard that remark. Iwaizumi gave a nonchalant shrug. “I get by.”

He received an expectantly dull gaze.

“Clearly. Now, if you wouldn’t mind placing the bat on the floor in front. No sudden movements.”

Iwaizumi picked it up and tossed it in between them before resuming his original position. He glanced down at the corpse before meeting her eye oncemore. “I assume that was you?”

The woman raised an elegant brow. “You don’t suppose?” she asked in mock innocence.  
Her heels clicked against the wooden floorboards as she strode toward him, long and confident.

He’d expected her to stand at a safe distance, but instead she didn’t stop until she was right in front, towering over him. She kicked his bat aside, well and truly out of reach, then leaned in, tipping his chin back and tilting his head left to right as she examined his face. “Handsome,” she noted casually.

Iwaizumi didn’t know what to make of this woman. She had just threatened to shoot his hands off, and now she was playing coy with him.  
He nudged out of her grip. “I’m flattered, but no thanks.”

“Who said I you offered anything?”

“I’m not interested in women like you.”

“Ah.” The mistress shook her head lightly. “That’s what they all say. At the start, that is.”

Iwaizumi raised a brow. “Just like your lover?”

The woman looked mildly confused for a moment before she tipped her head back and laughed. “ _Him? Lover?_ Oh, goodness no. I wouldn’t call him a lover. Moreso-” she considered. “Client.”

“Do you normally go around shooting your clients in the head?”

Her smile grew toothy. “Now, now. You of all people can’t scold me like that.”

 _She’s sharp._ Iwaizumi glanced past her, at the corpse. And she wasn’t exactly gun-shy either.  
He didn’t want to speculate or judge others based on their appearance, but she was unusual. Clearly no ordinary mistress to be casually back-sassing an assassin around.

“You’re awfully comfortable with a handgun, miss,” he noted.

The woman watched him. Her lip twitched, but she was quick to smother her amusement. Wordlessly, she reached up and brushed aside her bangs.. before grabbing a fistful of her own hair and tugging it back.

Iwaizumi’s indifferent composure broke for a brief moment as he watched the long luscious hair cascade down from her shoulders, tumbling down as realisation dawned-

“You’re a man,” he said, rather dumbly.

The other tilted his head lightly, and now there was no mistaking the amusement in his eyes. “I am.”  
He held out a hand. “Oikawa Tooru.”

Iwaizumi didn’t accept it and he drew back, unfazed.  
“Goodness, it feels so good to have the wig off,” He sighed deeply as he ran a hand through his hair. “All that weight was doing no good for my neck. Not that I’d expect you to sympathise with such a dilemma, right Iwaizumi?” Oikawa glanced up and watched him intently, searching for slightest trace of giveaway expression.

“You’ve got the wrong person.”

“I’m hardly wrong. I do my job, and I do it right. Though, _you,_ on the other hand..” Oikawa shook his head. “Must say that you’re not in a good situation right now.”

Iwaizumi shot another glance at the door on the other side of the room. “I don’t suppose you’re going to let me off with a warning.”

“Mm, no, unfortunately not. This isn’t the first time you’ve interfered with us." The other at least had the audacity to look apologetic. "I hope you won’t take offence when I say I’ve been ordered to finish you off.”

He brandished a pair of black leather gloves from his gown sleeve and eased them on. “You’ve caused too much nuisance for the business and the higher ups aren’t all too pleased. The last time costing valuable lives, valuable time, et cetera, et cetera.” Oikawa gave a dismissive wave. “You know how it is.”

Iwaizumi hummed in mock contemplation. “You could always fake the act. I won’t tell.”

“And place _my_ life on the line with yours? No thank you.” Oikawa drew a few spare bullets from an inner pocket and reloaded his pistol. "That'll take alittle more than asking politely."

“Is there anything else in that dress I should be worried about?”

The other flashed a charming smile as he angled his exposed leg, taunting. “You’re more than welcome to check for yourself.”

Iwaizumi grimaced, eyes raised to the ceiling. “If you’re going to kill me, just get it over and done with.”

Oikawa laughed. "Well someone's alittle eager. But I suppose that's a nice change."

"I prefer to do things alittle differently from others."

“I know, I’ve been watching you for a while now. And I'll confess, I’m a fan of your work.” He regarded him with a sidelong glance. “Especially the one in Harajuku.”

His demeanour shifted, all humour gone from his tone, replaced with deadly calm. The hitman's eyes were set on him in an unwavering gaze.

Iwaizumi returned the gesture.

Silence dragged a little too long for comfort, the room feeling smaller than it did before.

Iwaizumi gazed at him dully. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Oikawa’s lips curled up in an unpleasant grin. “For someone who does this for a profession, you’re a poor liar.”

There was another silence.

Iwaizumi was the first to break contact. He looked away. “What does it matter? It was a job. Nothing more, nothing less.”

“Well it’s exactly that, isn’t it? Nothing more, nothing less. But that one was different.” Oikawa was drilling holes in his face with that gaze. “You let him live.”

The comment itself was simple fact, but hearing it aloud was like a slap to the face.  
Iwaizumi let the boy live.

_Why?_

It was a question which occupied his mind often, though one which he wasn’t quite sure he wanted answered.

He’d found the boy lying on the cold tiled floors, whitely naked, energy to resist long gone. Iwaizumi could still remember those gaunt eyes, pleading him to finish the deed.

But he couldn’t.

_Why?_

Perhaps he’d grown complacent… or perhaps it was something else. Regardless, it was a thought he’d decided was best not to delve too deeply.

Iwaizumi shifted in his seat. He became vaguely aware of the other watching and he diverted his attention to the floor. 

Oikawa leaned in, chin propped on his palm as he openly scrutinised. “ _Oh?_ ” He murmured softly. His lips curled up in a sharp grin. “Well, that’s not something you see every day. A sentimental soldier, who would’ve thought. _”_

Iwaizumi flared up in defiance but it dissipated at the other’s gaze.  
It was a single gaze but enough to discern depth, to take in a sense that something almost disturbing was stirring beneath the surface.

_Curiosity._

Iwaizumi stared at him with uncomprehending eyes and Oikawa’s smile became genuine. He drew back and shook his head with a heavy sigh. “In this business, nobody seems to realise that we workers are just as important as the chiefs.”

Much to Iwaizumi’s surprise, he unloaded his pistol and tucked it in a holster on his left thigh.  
“Well, today must be your lucky day, my friend. I’ll turn a blind eye.” Oikawa waved his hand in an airy gesture. “Just this once.

Iwaizumi stared. “What?”

“Did you suddenly forget Japanese again?”

Iwaizumi was not one to appreciate humour. He glanced past Oikawa’s shoulder at the study desk, briefly contemplating, then back. His eyes sharpened with distrust. “Why?”

“I’m in a generous mood.”

“But your clients-” he began but Oikawa waved him off.

“They’re a nuisance anyway. Besides, I’m the best they got so I doubt they’ll do much.”

“Why are you doing this?” Iwaizumi demanded. “Just finish the job-”

His words were cut off abruptly and suddenly Oikawa was mere inches from his face, left hand gripping his shirt painfully tight.

“You know, others would be on their knees thanking me for this given opportunity.”

There was an audible stretch of his leather glove and he tightened his grip. “ _Don’t_ make me decide otherwise.”

Iwaizumi had little time to react before a pin prick sensation bloomed in his neck. He let out a startled hiss and jerked back in reflex, but Oikawa had him well pinned down on the chair, gloved fingers digging painfully in to his shoulder.

Suddenly, the room began to flip and it took several moments for him to realise he was on the ground, shaking; pain now replaced by waves of hot and cold. He tried to make sense of it all until he saw Oikawa standing over him with a syringe poised in his right gloved hand.

The man offered a dainty smile and shook it. “You really should have checked the dress.”

Iwaizumi tried to speak but all that came out was a strangled garble.

“Don’t worry, it’s just a little etorphine,” the other explained as he tucked the needle in to a discreet case. “You’ll be up and about in no time.”

Iwaizumi was already struggling to remain conscious, watching Oikawa as he stalked off, stepping over the dead man’s body and pausing to admire a painting hung above the fireplace.

“You were looking in the wrong place, by the way,” he said lightly. He peered over at his shoulder, flashing him a look of disdain. “Really now, Iwaizumi. There’s no way the money would be stashed somewhere as obvious as a desk drawer.”

He resumed back to the painting briefly, then reached up and pulled it down, revealing a built in safe. “This guy not only was a transvestic fetishizer, he was also a crow. He had a habit of hiding his treasures.”  
Oikawa peered over at him with a sudden stern expression. “ _If it’s hidden, you’re not a hoarder,_ ” he mimicked in a low, husky voice, then grinned. “Terrible hoarder if I must say so.”

He leaned in close, listening to the clicks as he twirled the dial. It wasn’t long before they heard the sounded click and he reached in, pulling out a dense-looking suitcase. “I’ll be taking this, thanks.”

Iwaizumi tried to spit a curse but it fell flat through the incomprehensible slurring. He struggled to get up but couldn’t, the drowsiness too severe to fight. Darkness pooled from the corners of Iwaizumi’s vision, edges melting in to blurred outlines.

Even in his last moments of consciousness, as his thoughts grew distorted and his senses began to flee, he was well aware of the man who knelt over him, a gentle hand on his shoulder as he leaned in.

“Now, now, why the look? Don’t let this parting upset you.”

Oikawa placed a hand under his chin, lifting it up to force Iwaizumi’s attention on his own eyes. They were two flares of candlelight in the dark, the image a memory indelibly scorched in his mind.

 

“We’ll meet again, soon enough.”

 


End file.
